


Devil's Night

by TaraLaurel1



Category: Four Brothers (2005)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Halloween, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 07:37:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1170413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaraLaurel1/pseuds/TaraLaurel1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oneshot. Pre-Movie. "Detroit's brightest night. Devil's Night. A pyromaniac's wet dream. A cop's worst nightmare. And Bobby Mercer's playground."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devil's Night

Bobby Mercer didn't care much for holidays. He barely took notice as they passed by, only sticking his toes into those that his mother was adamant on celebrating. Growing up, there weren't many holidays he even knew about or cared to learn of. Living on the streets didn't grant much time for history lessons or celebrations. With Evelyn, he gritted his teeth for Christmas and found himself actually enjoying Thanksgiving after he brought Turkey Cup into the festivities. There was one holiday, though, that Bobby Mercer looked forward to every year, Halloween. He detested the costumes and kids begging for candy. He could care less about the origins of the haunting holiday. He enjoyed the scary films, but those could be watched any time of the year. The one part of All Hallow's Eve that Bobby set his sights on, was not part of the actual festival at all. It wasn't even October 31st. No, Bobby's focus was 24 hours earlier on the calendar. Detroit's brightest night. Devi's Night. A pyromaniac's wet dream. A cop's worst nightmare. And Bobby Mercer's playground.

For three nights, most notoriously October 30th, fire ruled the city, and Bobby Mercer ruled the night. His first initiation to the flaming festival was when he was ten years old. His first victim had been an unimposing shell of a mobile home that was eagerly torched by Bobby and the boy who had previously lived there. At 11, Bobby and three others set flame to three different structures in one night. Next, the 12-year-old-wanna-be-gangbanger burned down a dilapidated 7-11, followed by an abandon corner store the following year. When he was 13, he and his supposed friends set a rival gang's hotspot up in smoke. After Evelyn took the firestarter in, the boy certainly didn't cease and desist, but his fires became more righteous in his eyes, even if he still was mostly doing it to burn something, anything, down. His first target was a neighborhood crack house. At fifteen, Bobby singlehandedly destroyed four buildings. Two were the homes of foster parents Bobby had overheard Evelyn saying had beat their foster children. One was a deserted dump where some monster had taken a little girl he kidnapped off the street and raped there. The fourth and final burn victim was the home of Jerry's original adoptive parents, who had up and left town after nearly beating their surrogate son of five years to death with a crowbar and a baseball bat. Bobby had found the file in Evelyn's piles of paperwork and somehow felt responsible for the troubled teenager. That next Devil's Night, Jeremiah Mercer was at Bobby's side when they set ablaze the neighborhood pawn shop that was running drugs to minors out of the backroom, the very place that had employed Jerry for most of his young life.

Now, Bobby Mercer, 21, was spending his Halloween back home manning a milk pyramid game at his mother's church. The congregation and social services, along with several other youth programs in the area had teamed up to provide children a safe and fun alternative to all the mischief and possible danger surrounding Samhein. There was ring and bean bag toss, and face painting by a young brunette Bobby was eyeing up. Pin the face on the pumpkin was currently being run by Angel while Jerry supervised the bobbing for apples and had dutifully kept Bobby from spiking the barrel of water. Other games and activities were run by cheerful volunteers who obviously actually wanted to be there. Bobby, on the other hand, spent most of his time binging on Butterfingers and biting back laughter at how horrible these kids were at the simple game, even if he had secretly rigged it.

He casually scanned the crowd for Evelyn, always wanted to be aware of where every member of his family was. It was the night before Halloween and unsurprisingly packed with parents desperate to keep their little ones out of trouble. He spotted her handing out orange cookies to a group of small and eager ghosts and princesses. Her stretching smile was enough to make Bobby's outlook soften. If she was happy, he was happy.

"Hey!"

A small, but strong voice snapped Bobby back to his station. A short, stocky boy was glaring up at him, his thumb stuck out toward the bottles. Bobby glanced over and gawked. Every milk jug was on the ground. Bobby couldn't believe it. He had personally weighted the bottom bottles himself. He also had replaced the church's baseball with a hollow sphere made from cork painted white.

"Where's my candy?" The boy demanded.

Bobby was too busy being impressed to snap off a retort. He stood the bottles back in a pyramid and handed the kid the ball.

"What about my candy I already won."

"Do it again," Bobby ordered after tossing the boy a piece of gum.

"Double or nothin'" the boy lifted his brow.

"Sure," Bobby stifled a chuckle and decided to like this kid.

The burly boy reeled his small arm back and released it like a spring. The ball punctured the pyramid and again it tumbled over in defeat.

"Well, son-of-a- uh – good job, kid," Bobby stopped himself before cursing and receiving undesired glares from parents and a lecture later from Evelyn.

"Thanks," the boy shrugged as Bobby filled his tattered pillowcase with a handful of candy.

"What's your name?"

"Who's askin'?" The kid was quick.

"Name's Mercer. Bobby Mercer."

"Heard that name before," the boy nodded approvingly and the Egyptian and pirate behind him in line walked away dejectedly.

"Would hope so," Bobby smirked, picking up the ball and tossing it to the boy as a pigtail wearing fairy stomped off in a huff.

"Mark," the boy fired the ball right back.

"You got a last name, Mark?"

"Maybe," Mark shrugged, swiftly catching the ball again. "Wouldn't know."

"Good arm," Bobby remarked, avoiding an obviously tender topic. "I'm more of a hockey guy, but you could do some serious damage with that throw. You like football or baseball?"

"Never played," Mark was really good at shrugging.

"You're shi – kidding me. You –"

"Bobby!"

Bobby turned to find Evelyn overrun by reaching hands, a tray of cookies now covered in spilled punch, and a crying infant ladybug.

"Could you lend me a hand please?" She smiled tiredly. "I only have two and these kids seem to have four each."

Bobby nodded and leaned down to the boy beside him.

"You wanna run this stupid game while I'm gone?"

"Not really," Mark made a face Bobby recognized in himself.

"Didn't think so," Bobby chuckled. "Wanna run it for awhile and get all the candy you want?"

Mark silently nodded and began picking up the bottles he had knocked down as Bobby went to rescue his mother.

Three hours, several hundred cookies and two bowls of punch later, the night was wrapping up and Bobby headed back to his post. The milk bottles were aligned in a perfect pyramid, next to a smile pile of empty, discarded Kit Kat wrappers, but no burly boy. Bobby neglected tearing down and searched for the kid for some reason he couldn't explain. It wasn't until he was taking out a few bags of trash that Bobby found Mark sucking on a cigarette behind the dumpster.

"Hey," Bobby offered. "You need a ride home?"

It was a stupid question, but Bobby needed some sort of opening and he wasn't good at this like Evelyn.

"Yeah," Mark rolled his eyes. "I got a nice bench 'cross town you can drop me off at."

"Parents?" Bobby questioned as casually as possible.

Mark didn't offer a verbal reply, but merely flashed Bobby a glare that was enough of an answer.

"Well, if you wanna night away from that bench 'a yours, you can come home with me."

Again, Bobby received a dark look that told him exactly what Mark was thinking.

"Not like that," Bobby shook his head and winced. "I'd shoot my own dick off before letting another dude touch it."

That seemed to bring a shadow of a smile to the young hoodlum's face, so Bobby continued.

"My Ma takes in kids," he explained. "My brothers 'n I are all adopted."

"Good for you," Mark spat. "I don't need your damn charity or pity."

"Not offerin' either. Just a couch to crash on under a decent fucking roof and enough pizza and Chinese takeout to feed an army. I don't pity you. Hell, I don't pity anyone. You got dealt a bad hand, tough shit. You deal. You wanna act like you're all good and independent and all that crap, fine. You wanna turn down pizza and a couch? Cool. You do what you got to do."

A figure began to approach them in the alley and Bobby was ready to pull his gun when the shadow greet Mark.

"What the hell are you doin', man? Playin' with yourself back here? You're late. Which means  _we're_  late. Come on." The older boy paused and eyed Bobby. "This fool hasslin' you?"

"Fool I'll –"

"He's cool. Let's go."

Bobby watched silently as the two stalked of into the night. He didn't want to know what they were late for. He didn't want to know where exactly that kid would be sleeping tonight. As memories Bobby thought to be repressed scratched at the surface, Bobby wished he had never met the boy. The way he carried himself, how he dressed, talked, the conflict behind his hardened eyes, even Mark's face and stature, reminded Bobby all too much of someone else.

"Bobby, if you're hiding back here to get out of cleanin' up, I swear –"

Bobby turned away as Jerry approached, more bags of trash in his hands. Jerry carelessly tossed the bags into the dumpster and drew closer to his brother.

"Bobby?"

"Get the fuck away from me," Bobby barked.

"Yeah, right," Jerry took another step. "What's goin' on?"

"Don't worry 'bout it."

"You're my brother. Worrying comes with the territory of having Bobby Mercer in the family."

"Aren't you fucking hilarious?" Bobby scoffed.

"Alright," a new voice entered the alley. "What the hell is goin' on? Mom thinks you two skipped out. And if you did, why the fuck didn't you tell me?"

"Somethin's wrong," Jerry spoke.

"Shut up, Jerry," Bobby snapped. "Nothin's wrong, damn it."

"Yeah," Angel scoffed. "You sound just fine."

"You tell us," Jerry warned, "or I'll tell Mom and everyone in that church that Bobby Mercer was crying."

"Damn," Angel whistled. "I thought you were the nice one of us." He teased Jerry. "Man, Bobby cryin'. I didn't think it was possible. I've never seen it."

"And you never will," Bobby bit back. "Just leave it alone. It's nothin'. Just some stupid kid." He paused and then suddenly everything seemed to fall apart. "You know, just when you fucking think – when you think you're good. That you're fucking okay. Somethin' –" Bobby cut himself off and kicked the dumpster with enough force to make the teenage Angel flinch. "Sometimes – these kids –"

Bobby again couldn't finish. He couldn't be weak in front of anyone, especially his younger brothers. Jerry was his wingman and he knew Angel looked up to him like he was indestructible. He simply straightened his shoulders and determinedly cleared his throat.

"They hit a little close to home," The seventeen-year-old Jerry sighed, as if speaking as a much older man and finally understanding his big brother. "You know, I think that's why Mom wants us to come to these things."

"What?" Bobby scoffed. "To fuck with our heads? To make us relive lives I – we – thought we forgot."

"Nah, man," Jerry shook his head. "You know she wouldn't do that. She does it so we can – I dunno – maybe help them."

"Oh, yeah, Jerry," Bobby spat sarcastically, "a lot of help I did watchin' him walk away with some gangbanger."

"Would you have listened?" Angel challenged, also suddenly not sounding like his fourteen-year-old self. "Would any of us? I know I wouldn't."

"You did what you could," Jerry nodded, "which is a hell of a lot more than anyone else probably has done for that kid. You're our brother, man. We know you better than anyone." Jerry paused and glanced back at Angel. "I think there's somewhere we need to go."

Bobby didn't move. He just stared at Jeremiah stoically.

"Come on," Jerry started walking away. "For once, listen to your little brothers."

"What about Ma?" Bobby fished for an excuse.

"Mom knows us," Angel chuckled. "If it wasn't this, she knows damn well we woulda' found some way to ditch clean up duty. I know I wasn't stickin' around. Don't make us carry you."

As usual, Angel didn't know where they were going or exactly what was going on, but he was ready to go to the ends of the earth with his new brothers, and of course always ready to threaten them.

"Go ahead," Bobby challenged, but still sluggishly followed them, "I'd like to see you try, Angel Shortcake. I'd whoop both your asses."

"Sure, Bobby," Angel rolled his eyes.

They walked for some time before it started to hit Bobby. He recognized these streets. He was about to turn back when he saw it.

"What the fuck are we doin' here?" Bobby tensed. "How'd you know about this place?"

"Read your file," Jerry shrugged. "Hey, when Mom found me, we were from rival gangs, man. Had to do my homework, you know, just in case."

"In case I tried to kill you?" Bobby finshed. "Well, I'm getting' that urge now, Jer'."

"What is this place?" Angel questioned, staring innocently and curiously at the frozen Bobby and the building beyond him.

It took a moment for Bobby to find speech. His hands were shaking and his mouth was dry. At 21, he felt like a little kid, the little kid that had lived here.

"This is where I grew up," Bobby's voice was slow and icy. "At least until I left the shithole when I was nine."

The young teenager looked in awe at his eldest brother and then back at the building, or, what was left of it. What was once a dilapidated apartment complex was now a dilapidated ghost of architecture. All but one of the windows were broken, and only two were successfully boarded up. The only decorations on the bleak brick were signs and posted paperwork. Those who passed by were warned not to trespass. If that threat didn't stop them, the several code violation notices, the proclamation that it had been condemned and the spray painted gang symbols would.

"You started it for us," Jerry spoke suddenly. "You did it for me. We did it for Angel. It's time you got a turn."

Bobby was slowly catching up, as was Angel. He remembered his two new brothers taking him out the night before Halloween the previous year. Angel has spent most of his years on the streets like Bobby, being plucked up and placed in foster care when the system got a hold of him here and there. The worst home was right before Evelyn stepped in. Their mission, though, was thwarted as a new family had moved into the house of the now jailed abusers.

Angel got his fiery revenge though when he burnt down the tree that the racist, so-called, 'man of the house' tied him to like a dog. It wasn't anything big or bright, but it was enough to help Angel move forward.

"You're always helpin' us," Jerry sighed. "Time we were there for you."

"Burn that bitch down," Angel cheered.

Bobby looked back at his brothers for a long moment before retrieving his lighter from his pocket. He stared at the looming building, allowing those scratching memories to rip through. The pain, the grief, fear, loneliness, rage – all tore through, accompanied by images he thought he had long forgotten. He let them briefly surface and take over, and then, he burned them. For once, the fire wasn't about destroying – it was about purifying. It wasn't revenge. It was a purge. A cleansing.

And as he watched the building turn red, Bobby thought of the young boy and the child he had once been. And when brick and wood turned to ash, he wondered if both of them could somehow rise up from the ashes and pain and memories of their pasts. He imagined that, maybe, just maybe, they both would be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Please don't soap my windows, egg my car or toilet paper my apartment – or set it on fire – due to lack of Jack in this fic. I'm sorry! It just didn't fit with they way I wanted this story to go and how I wanted a younger Bobby. I hope there was enough Bobby angst to tide you Jack-lovers over. Let's let the older Mercers get SOME of the limelight here!


End file.
